Ghosts
by deb
Summary: A voice from beyond the grave changes everything. Sequel to “Journey into Darkness” - set 7 years later


Title: Ghosts Author: ddrake Fandom(s): Airwolf Genre (general, hetero or slash) gen with references to established relationship Rating: M Summary: A voice from beyond the grave changes everything Warnings: Sexual references, violence, language Notes: Sequel to "Journey into Darkness" - set 7 years later Acknowledgments: I would like to thank Linda and Enfleurage for their input and betas – any errors that remain are mine. Airwolf (unfortunately) isn't mine. Characters and settings belong to their creators. No profit to be made from this story.

"Ghosts"

Zeus leaned back in the dark leather chair, tapping his fingernails impatiently on his desk. The Director of the clandestine government agency known as the Firm was not a man who waited well. The phone rang, and it snatched the instrument up before it had completed it's first ring. He leaned forward. "Yes?"

The voice came over the line, distorted ever so slightly by the scramblers it had passed through. "This is Apollo, sir."

"Well?" Zeus demanded.

"Nothing, sir. We've been through Locke's office, the computers at the Lair, what materials could be recovered from Santini Air. I've had people search all four residences. We have nothing."

"Damn it. You've missed something. Keep looking." Even as he said the words, he knew it was probably futile. He slammed the receiver back onto it's base. Zeus rose to his feet. There was one resource that might provide him with the information he needed. One resource that he was loathe to utilize. He reached over and picked up the receiver again, punching the button for the inter-office line. He heard the click as his aide picked up on the other end.

"Get me a flight to DC," he snarled.. "Now."

-*-

Michael strode into the outer office, briefcase in hand. He was in a foul mood; his meeting with Senator Haskell had run late, and he still hadn't gotten around to grabbing any lunch. Worse, it was raining. Again.

His receptionist looked up from her nails and emery board. "Zeus is looking for you." She cracked her gum. "He said he wanted to see you just as soon as you got in."

The third new receptionist in less than two months. After awhile, they began to run together. He tried to remember the girl's name. Susan? No. She insisted on going by Suzie. "Suzie, did he say what it was about?" He didn't even bother to complain about the gum. He had tried. Repeatedly. It wasn't worth the effort. If he did manage to turn Suzie into any sort of actual assistant, she'd be gone within a week and he would end up with someone even more incompetent..

"Nope. Just that he wanted to see you right away."

Lovely. That was just what he wanted. One of the few good things about working in Washington was that Zeus seldom left California. Unfortunately, today had to be the exception. "All right, let me get rid of this." He indicated the briefcase as he headed for this desk.

If it had been Marella, Samantha or Lydia in the outer office, they would have offered to take it for him so he could go ahead and get the meeting over with. But it wasn't. He sighed. Lydia was in Germany, Sam in Morocco – and God had given Marella enough sense to quit the Firm entirely.

Suzie's phone rang as Michael started to open the door to his inner office. "Yes, Admiral Davis," he heard her say, "I'm afraid Archangel is very busy, but I'll be sure he gets your message--"

Michael cut her off. "Suzie, put that through to my phone."

"But sir, Zeus said--"

"Put Davis through," Michael demanded, in a tone that suggested she had better do as he asked. He closed the door behind him and sat down, dropping the briefcase on the desk and picking up the phone. Given the choice between talking to the Admiral and dealing with the Director, the Admiral would win every time.

"John, hello," he said into the phone.

"They lost her," the older man said, with no preamble.

"Lost who?" If Michael could change one thing about the Admiral, it would be the man's habit of starting a a conversation in the middle – and assuming that you had some idea what he was talking about.

"Airwolf."

A quick wave of something approximating fear washed over him. He knew, better than anyone, just what that helicopter could do in the wrong hands. He sighed deeply. "That's Locke's problem, not mine." All in all, he was just as happy to be on the opposite coast.

There was a hesitation on the other end of the phone. "You don't know, do you, son? They sure have managed to cut you out of the loop."

"What?"

"Locke is dead.," the Admiral said, quietly. "They all are. String's brother, the Santini girl, Rivers. Santini Air and nearly half a block around it was leveled by a gas explosion yesterday. It was no accident."

Michael sat back in his chair, stunned. "So presumably whoever killed them has Airwolf."

"No. There's reason to believe that Airwolf was moved before the explosion. There were prior attempts. St. John believed that someone from the Firm was involved. There is a good chance he was the one who relocated the helicopter."

As Michael considered that, his door opened, and Suzie stuck her head in. "Zeus just called looking for you, again."

Normally, he would have lectured her for not knocking, but he was distracted enough that he let it go. "Admiral," he said into the phone, "I'll get back to you."

Moments later, Michael walked into Zeus' office. The man rose to meet him, saccharine smile on his face. "Michael, how are you?" Zeus reached out to shake hands.

He ignored the gesture. "I understand you've lost a helicopter."

Zeus sat back down, pretending he hadn't noticed the snub. He motioned toward the chair in front of the desk. "Well, that's not quite the situation. Airwolf isn't exactly lost, we've just been unable to locate it so it can be retrieved."

Michael remained standing, towering over the other man. "I assume that's why you called me in. Just what do you think I can do?"

"We believe that the elder Hawke moved the aircraft some time before his death. We felt that you might be uniquely positioned to have some idea where to look for it."

"I've never even met St. John." He wondered just how far he could push Zeus.

"True," the Director acquiesced, "but he did have contact with Stringfellow prior to the younger Hawke's death. It's possible that St. John may moved Airwolf to a location his brother told him about, or even to somewhere he used in the past." Zeus smiled again, the expression so artificial it might have been plastered on with wallpaper paste. "Michael, if you were to... facilitate... the recovery, the committee would be willing to once again place you in charge of the Airwolf prototype."

Michael decided to find out just how badly they wanted Airwolf back. "Would that offer include the reinstatement of my division, and my personnel?"

The smile left Zeus' face. "Yes," he answered, finally. "I suppose it would."

"I'll need two tickets for LAX." Michael headed toward the doorway, then turned to look back over his shoulder. "First class, of course."

"First class," answered the Director, his expression that of a man who had just swallowed something very, very sour. "Of course."

-*-

"Give it up for the night," Michael suggested.

Caitlin leaned over the dining room table, studying one of the many satellite photographs that covered it. "Airwolf has to be somewhere." She picked up a map, checking it against the photo. "You're sure they checked the boneyard?'

"Checked and double checked." One of the first places they had looked was the aircraft junkyard where the younger Hawke had hidden Airwolf from Bogard's satellite search.

She dropped the papers back onto the pile, straightening up with a sigh. "It's got to be inside. Somewhere under cover.. And if it is, we're never going to find it."

Michael tended to agree with her. They had been looking for two weeks. They had started with the obvious – every hanger in the Van Nuys area had been checked, either openly or surreptitiously, as had any outside of the area that had any connection to the Airwolf crew. From there, they had moved on to check natural caves and ledges; any place where the helicopter could have been parked out of the sight of the spy satellites.

It was worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. At least with the haystack, you knew the scope of the search. Airwolf could be anywhere.

Caitlin yawned. "I think I'm going to go take a shower and get ready for bed. Are you coming?"

He glanced up at the clock. It was nearly midnight. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

Michael watched Caitlin as she walked away, then returned his attention to the computer printouts he had been reading. He had hoped that searching sales of aviation fuel might provide some lead, but that was looking like a dead end, too.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache that was threatening to form there. He hated to admit defeat. Finding Airwolf would give him back the division that Zeus had stolen from him. It would get him out of Washington, and back to the Knightsbridge office where he belonged. Unfortunately, it didn't look as if it was going to happen.

The ringing of the phone startled him, and he grabbed the receiver, picking it up before the ringing could disturb Caitlin's shower. "Briggs," he announced into the mouthpiece.

"You're a hard man to find," said the voice at the other end of the line.

It was a voice that he had been certain he would never hear again. But that was impossible. "Who is this?" he demanded, annoyed.

"Who do you think it is? Your employers are looking for something. I know where it is."

It was a trap, it had to be. The man who belonged to that voice was dead and buried. "What do you want?"

"Meet me."

"When and where?" Trap or not, he wasn't sure that he had any choice but to play along.

"The cabin. Tomorrow, around noon. Come alone. Drive in off the fire road, you'll have to walk from there."

Before he could answer, the phone went dead.

Michael sat for a minute, staring at the telephone. The man had sounded exactly like Stringfellow Hawke. However, Hawke was dead. It had to be a trap, or at best, some trick arranged by the committee. He had no idea what the purpose of that trap might be.

Standing, he went into the bedroom and stripped off his clothes. Caitlin was still in the shower, and he slipped in to join her. "Did I hear the phone?" she asked. Unbidden, she started soaping his back.

"Yeah. I've got to go out early in the morning. I've got a meeting. You might as well sleep in." It was as close to the truth as he was willing to go. If he told her any more, she would insist on going with him.

"Sounds good to me."

Michael turned, and brought his lips to hers. It was the sort of kiss that was destined to lead to much more.

"I thought you had an early meeting?" Caitlin smiled.

If he was right and he was walking into a trap, this might be his last chance. He kissed her again. "Not that early."

-*-

The two fallen trees effectively blocked the now overgrown path that had once, in brighter days, been a roughly cut driveway. Michael pulled the Jeep to a stop, the front bumper nearly nudging the first of the toppled pines. He let out a sigh as he switched the key off. End of the road.

Although he had hoped for the best, he was actually surprised at how well the path had held up. He had turned off the fire access road at least three miles back, expecting at every bend to be confronted by an impassable roadblock. Now, he sat for a moment, considering his position. It had been a long time since he was last in these woods, but he estimated that he was still about two miles from the lake. Dropping the keys into his pocket, Michael climbed out of the vehicle and looked around.

There was a chill here in the deep forest, and he knew he had made the right decision wearing denims and a jacket rather than one of his trademark white suits. Michael reached back into the Jeep and withdrew his cane. Over the course of the years since Red Star, his knee had recovered as much as it ever would. He seldom carried the cane any more, but given the uneven, rocky ground, it wouldn't be easy walking. He closed the door of the vehicle and checked the automatic hanging from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket. The weapon was loaded and ready. Michael ducked around the fallen trees and continued up the trail.

He slogged through the muddy underbrush, his knee aching, unaccustomed to hiking over such broken terrain. As he neared the edge of the forest he slowed, hoping to catch a glimpse of what waited for him. Finally, he saw the water, and as he moved closer, he saw the remains of the dock that had once served as a makeshift helipad. It was still standing, but to a quick glance it looked as if it might topple into the water at any moment. The log cabin, on the other hand, appeared little changed. A thin reed of smoke drifted upwards from the chimney.

As he approached the building, Michael reached for the comforting weight of the automatic, and it was in his hand as he stepped onto the porch. The door was unlocked, as it had always been. Cautiously, he pushed it open with his toe and stepped inside.

There was a fire burning in the fireplace. In front of it, a graying dog rested on a folded blanket. As it saw Michael, the dog's tail began to twitch. He scanned the interior of the cabin. Not seeing any immediate threat, he glanced back toward the dog. The twitch had become a half-hearted wag. He looked more closely. "Tet?"

"You'll have to speak louder than that, he's getting deaf."

Michael spun at the sound, as footsteps began to descend the stairs from the loft. He recognized the voice. As the figure came into view, Michael's eyes confirmed the impossibility that his ears had already accepted. He slipped the automatic back into it's holster. "Well I'll be damned. You're supposed to be dead."

Stringfellow Hawke finished his descent. "Sometimes I think I am, and they just forgot to bury the body."

As Hawke crossed the room to the fireplace, Michael took the opportunity to study him. String limped slightly, almost unnoticeably, and a handful of faded scars pot marked his forearms. Michael had no trouble recognizing them. Burns, presumably from the explosion that had reportedly resulted in Hawke's death. There was something else, too. In both appearance and demeanor, the younger man had aged far more than the simple passage of time could justify.

"You're looking good, these days."

It took Michael a moment to figure out what Hawke was talking about. The glasses, he realized. Back when Hawke had supposedly died, he had still been wearing glasses with a darkened lens. He shrugged. "Long story. Double vision. They finally fixed it." _It had only taken four years and as many surgeries to rid himself of those damn glasses. _

"Huh." Hawke knelt to check the fire, and paused to scratch Tet behind the ears before he rose. "You're a hard man to find, Michael. How long have you been based in Washington?"

"Since..." Michael broke off as the other man looked up, and he finally met Hawke's eyes. There was something in those eyes, something that left a chill shiver running down his spine. It convinced the agent that there was no sense in bringing up the past. "Seven years." He sat down on the sofa, taking the weight off his knee.

"Your aide is an idiot."

He snorted. "Receptionist. Not aide, not assistant. Not even secretary. And calling her an idiot is a vast overstatement of her intelligence."

Hawke walked over to the bar and poured glasses of wine. He returned and handed one to Michael. "Someone at the Firm – the Company, as Locke prefers to call it – is working for Horn."

Horn. John Bradford Horn. That was one name that Michael had hoped he would never hear again. "String, I'm sorry about your brother. And about Dominic."

Hawke stared silently at his glass. Finally he spoke. "I want Horn. I also want whoever it is at the Firm who's been feeding him information. Give me that, and Airwolf is yours."

Michael nodded. "Fair enough."

"One problem."

"You don't know where she is?" If Hawke didn't, they were back at square one.

"I know where she is. I just can't get her out." He held up his hands, and Michael saw that they were shaking. "I haven't flown. I've barely even left the lake. Where Airwolf is... it's a tight fit. Not the place to knock the rust off."

"We'll figure something out."

"I already figured it out. That's why I called you. I need you to find Cait." Hawke looked up, accusingly. "Is she working for the Firm?"

"No," Michael answered, careful of his words. "She's flying for a charter service."

"Oh?" Hawke sounded suspicious. "I made some calls. I tried checking the pilot's databases. There's no listing for her. O'Shannessy isn't a common name."

Michael shrugged, trying to look casual. "She's married."

The pilot raised a brow, surprise registering on his face. "Guess that explains that, then. I take it you've kept in touch?"

"The Firm asked me to find Airwolf. Caitlin's been helping me look." Michael sipped his wine.

Hawke jerked his thumb toward the bar. "I've got a satellite phone. Get her up here."

Michael leaned back into the cushions. "I don't know if that's a good idea. What happened – you, Dominic. It tore the hell out of her. I don't know what it will do to her to find out that you're still

alive." There was a part of him that had other reservations about how she would react. At one time, Caitlin had been interested in Stringfellow Hawke.

"She's the only one who can get the Lady." Hawke rose and crossed to the bar. He reached down and brought out the phone, placing it on the counter. "If you want Airwolf, make the call."

Reluctantly, the agent joined him and picked up the phone.

"Tell her to land on the dock."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Have you looked at that thing, Hawke? It's falling into the lake."

For the first time, Hawke showed just the trace of a grin. Just as quickly, it was gone. "Looks it, doesn't it? Great way to discourage unwanted visitors. Until you look underneath and see the steel support beams."

The agent snorted. "Your idea?"

"St. John's, actually."

Michael picked up the phone and dialed, making sure that Hawke didn't see the number he was dialing.

Caitlin answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Cait, this is Michael. I need you to meet me at Hawke's old cabin. You can land on the dock, it's sturdier than it looks."

"Okay." Even over the phone, he could hear the unasked questions in her voice. "I can be there in about an hour. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. I'll see you then." He hung up before she could say any more, and turned to Hawke. "Caitlin is on her way."

"Good."

Michael sat back down, chewing his lip. "I don't suppose you'd like to explain why we all thought you were dead?"

"Locke's idea, actually. My brother agreed." Hawke dropped into a chair across from the agent. "I was in rough shape. Not just physically. Locke was afraid someone would take advantage of that. As long as everyone thought I was dead, I wasn't a liability – or a distraction."

"The Firm doesn't know, I take it?" At Hawke's silent confirmation, Michael paused to consider the ramifications. Locke had known that Hawke was alive, and had kept that secret from everyone, including him. Why? Because he himself was too closely allied to String. If String had reasserted control of Airwolf, Michael might have forced Locke out. He sighed. More damnable Firm politics.

"My brother took me to a private clinic Locke recommended, and they checked me in under an alias. I was there two months. I've been here ever since. St. John brings -- brought -- supplies."

Alone in the woods. No wonder Hawke seemed even more reclusive than ever. It certainly explained the haunted look in his eyes. Michael could only imagine the effect Dominic's death had had on him, much less his brother's. Worse, thanks to Locke, he had gone through it without even the support of his friends. "Tell me what I can do."

Hawke stared at him, his eyes unreadable. "Just help me get Horn." The pilot looked up, cocking his head. "Must be Cait."

A moment later, Michael heard it too, the approach of the helicopter they had borrowed from the Firm. She had made good time, it had been less than the hour she had predicted. He stood. "I'm going to go out and meet her. She needs to know..." At Hawke's answering nod, Michael stepped out onto the porch.

The white Long Ranger banked in over the lake, coming to a hover over the dock. He could see Caitlin in the cockpit, looking dubiously at the platform. He walked down the path to the dock and waved to her, signaling her to land. She did, finally, lowering the helicopter cautiously, making sure the dock would hold it's weight.

As she shut the helicopter down, Michael ducked under the blades and opened her door.

Caitlin took one look at his face. "What's wrong?"

"It's not a question of what's wrong." He made sure that her hands were safely off the controls. "Cait, String is alive. He's here."

Her gaze moved from Michael to the cabin, quickly back again. "What? He can't be."

"He is."

Caitlin pulled her safety belts loose and started to climb from the chopper. Michael stopped her. "I haven't told him."

"Told him what?"

"Any of it. Us. Cambodia. I'm not sure we should. He's not in a good frame of mind. As screwed up as Hawke was before, you can guess what Dom and St. John's deaths have done to him."

She nodded. "You're probably right." Caitlin climbed from the helicopter and headed up the path, Michael a few steps behind her. Hawke met her on the porch, and she leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "String, you are alive!"

He responded stiffly, finally patting her awkwardly on the back. "So they tell me."

They went inside. Hawke poured Caitlin a glass of wine. "I need your help to get Airwolf," he said, without preamble.

"Okay." She raised an eyebrow in Michael's direction, obviously surprised by Hawke's curtness.

"I thought we'd stay here tonight, and head out in the morning. Is that going to be a problem?"

"A problem?" she asked.

"Michael said you're married."

"Oh." Her lips curved in a smile. "It's all right. My husband won't mind. He knows where I am."

Hawke nodded. He picked up his fishing pole, and headed toward the door. "I'll go catch some dinner. Michael can fill you in."

-*-

After they ate, Caitlin pushed Hawke out of the kitchen, insisting she would do the dishes. The men returned to the living room,

Hawke added wood to the fireplace. "Where were you?"

"When?"

The pilot kept his gaze on the fire. "Dom's funeral. I thought you'd be there. I gave Jo a description. She didn't see you."

Michael wasn't surprised by the question, only by how long it had taken Hawke to ask it. He considered his answer. "I was out of the country."

Hawke turned, anger on his face. "Come on, Michael. None of your people told you? I know you and Dom weren't the best of friends, but you couldn't be bothered to come back, even just to pay your respects?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Like hell."

Caitlin came out of the kitchen, dish towel in her hands. "String--"

Michael shook his head. "Let it go, Cait."

"No. He needs to hear it." She turned back towards Hawke. "String, Michael didn't desert you. He wasn't there was because he had gone to Cambodia looking for your brother."

Hawke looked up at Caitlin. "Is that the story he told you?"

She wiped her hands on the towel. "It's not a story, String. I wasn't in Texas. I was there with him. We rescued seven American POWs from a Khmer Rouge camp, but the whole thing went to hell. Michael nearly died. He was in a hospital in Hawaii when Marella got word. By the time we got back, it was too late. Dom had been buried. We were told that you were dead."

"Is it true?" Hawke turned to Michael, the anger gone from him.

"Yeah," the agent admitted, as Caitlin went back to the dishes.

"I guess I owe you an apology."

"No need. You didn't know."

Hawke hesitated. "Did Locke?"

"He knew about it after the fact."

"Bastard never told me." He shook his head. "Cait said you almost died?"

Michael shrugged. "I took a couple bullets."

"You okay?"

"Fine." Michael caught the look Caitlin gave him, ignored it.

"Wait, you took Caitlin with you into Cambodia?" There was accusation in Hawke's tone.

It was something he had hoped he wouldn't have to explain. "Against my better judgment."

"What the hell were you thinking?" He kept his voice low, but it was obvious he wasn't pleased.

"I didn't like it either, but it was the best option I had."

"I would have gone."

"I know. But I had my reasons. And as it turned out..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"What?"

Michael looked over at Hawke. "If Caitlin hadn't been in Cambodia... who would have been flying that cargo run?" The helicopter Santini had been flying when it exploded.

Hawke didn't answer for a minute. "Probably Cait," he said, quietly.

"That's what I thought."

-*-

Hawke laid in bed, hands folded behind his head, thinking. Michael had explained why he had taken Caitlin into Cambodia, and while he didn't like it, he understood it. How many times had he himself dragged both Dom and Cait into danger while looking for his brother? Michael had a good lead on St. John's whereabouts, and Cait had volunteered to go with him. As much as Hawke hated to admit it, given the same situation, chances were he would have made the same decision that Michael made.

He wasn't sure what he thought of the agent. For so many years, he had assumed that Michael had simply walked away, transfered to some other post without ever giving his friends another thought. Now, he found that wasn't the case. Locke had let him think the worst of Michael. Locke, the man his brother had trusted. The man that he had ultimately relinquished Airwolf to.

Hawke heard soft voices from below, and he quietly got out of bed, slipping to the top of the stairs. Caitlin had piled cushions and blankets in front of the fireplace, apparently intending to sleep there. It brought back memories. The more things changed, the more they remained the same. She had slept there before, nights when they'd come back late from a mission, or had an early stunt shoot. Then, it had been Dom sleeping on the sofa, not Michael.

The two were talking. Despite his celebrated hearing, their voices were too low for him to hear more than the occasional word. As Hawke stood there watching, Michael leaned forward and started to reach across the coffee table for his wineglass, then pulled his arm back abruptly, visibly wincing. Caitlin said something, then came around behind the agent, her hands going to his shoulders, massaging. Michael leaned back into her. While Hawke might not be able to hear their words, the easy familiarity between them spoke volumes.

Suddenly, the pieces snapped together. Caitlin, married to someone who knew where she was, and wouldn't object. Michael's protective attitude. _Michael and Caitlin_. It was the last thing he would have ever expected, but it explained a great deal. Feeling like some sort of voyeur, Hawke turned and silently went back to bed.

-*-

Caitlin woke to the feel of a cold, wet nose rubbing her face. She pushed Tet gently away, giving him a quick pat and a whispered promise that she would find him a treat. As she rose, the dog took her place among the blankets.

She saw that Michael was still sleeping. It brought a smile to her face. It had taken him a long time, but her husband had finally banished the demons that had haunted his dreams. She tip-toed past him, following the scent of fresh coffee into the kitchen.

Hawke was at the stove, cooking. She poured herself coffee and sat down at the counter.

"Michael still asleep?"

"Yeah. I would be, too, if Tet hadn't decided I was in his spot," she complained good-naturedly.

That brought a chuckle from Hawke, the first she had heard since they had arrived. "So, you're married, huh?"

"Yep." She flashed the ring on her finger. "Five years, now."

"Nice ring."

She glanced at Hawke, wondering if he were teasing. Caitlin still wore the Cubic Zirconia that Michael had given her as part of their aliases on their trip into Cambodia. The "real" ring he had given her when he proposed was tucked away in her jewelry box. This was the one that had come to have sentimental meaning behind it. She decided to take Hawke's comment at face value. "I like it."

He pushed bacon around in the pan. "Your husband, is he good to you?"

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. It seemed a rather oddly phrased question. "Better than good. He treats me like a queen."

"You're happy?"

She saw that he was serious, and gave her answer the consideration it deserved. "Are there things I would change about our lives if I could? Sure. But yes, I'm happy."

"You love him?"

The conversation was beginning to feel like like a game of twenty questions. "More than anything on earth."

"So where'd you meet this catch, anyhow?"

Caitlin looked up sharply. Hawke grinned openly at her. She wasn't sure how he knew, but she was certain he did. She matched his smile. "In the back seat of a helicopter over Germany. But I think you already know that."

Michael picked that moment to walk into the kitchen, yawning and slightly disheveled. Hawke poured him a cup of coffee. "Congratulations," he said, passing the coffee to the agent.

"String figured out who I'm married to," Caitlin explained, seeing Michael's confused expression.

He accepted the coffee, "You're okay with it?"

Hawke shrugged. "She tells me she's happy."

Michael reached out to take her hand. "I hope she is. I know I am." He changed the topic. "So what's the agenda?"

"We're going to go get Airwolf." Hawke served the eggs and bacon, sat down himself. "She's about three hundred miles northwest of here." He sipped his coffee. "We've got plenty of time to get there. Last mile or two will have to be on foot, under cover of darkness."

The agent scowled. "Where the hell did St. John put her?"

"Vandenberg."

"Air Force Base? You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope."

Michael finished his breakfast. "Apparently insanity runs in families."

Hawke gave him an odd grin. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet."

-*-

Nearly buried by the thick scrub brush, the entrance resembled nothing quite so much as a slightly oversized manhole cover, rusty metal secured by a somewhat shinier padlock. Hawke keyed the lock, and pulled the hatch open.

The odor that wafted out from the opening was nearly gag inducing. Hawke retrieved filter masks from his knapsack and passed them out. Michael pulled his awkwardly over his head, then accepted the hardhat and gloves the other man handed him. The hardhat had a light mounted on the front.

"You two ready?" Hawke asked, voice muffled by the mask.

Michael could see concern in Caitlin's eyes, but he nodded. "Yeah, let's go."

Hawke had warned him what was ahead of them, six stories worth of ladders, then at least as many more of stairs. Michael wasn't looking forward to it, but he wasn't about to let Caitlin go without him. They descended slowly, inky darkness broken only by the lamps they carried.

Finally, the ladders ended, depositing them in a tunnel that stretched away in both directions. Their lights did little to ease the foreboding gloom. Michael retrieved the flashlight from his pocket and swung it around, taking in the graffiti scrawled on the concrete walls and corroding metal. Much of the paint was peeling. This place had been abandoned for a long time, even by the vandals.

"This way." Checking a hand-drawn map, Hawke led them down one of the corridors, footsteps echoing on the metal plating.

Michael felt Caitlin's hand slip into his, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. The tunnel branched, and Hawke selected one of the branches. Michael hoped that the pilot knew where he was going, because it would be far too easy to get hopelessly lost in the tangled passageways.

At the top of the stairs, they paused for a few minutes rest to catch their breath. There was little graffiti here, this far under the earth. Instead, moisture condensated on the walls and dripped from pipes. The lower they went, the worse the smell became, but by now their noses had become almost immune to the stench. Michael had counted landings, and knew they had to be near the bottom. He would be grateful to get there; the ladders had set off both his knee and shoulder, and the stairs were just further aggravating the knee.

They finally reached the bottom, and continued down another access tunnel, "String, what is this place? Where are we?" Caitlin asked. She had fallen in step with Michael again, her hand in his.

Hawke glanced back at them. "Michael, you must know?"

"I know it's a missile silo, but I'm not sure for exactly what sort of missile." He was familiar with the decommissioned Titan 1 sites, had even been in one some years earlier when it was being dismantled.. This was similar, but wasn't one of them, For one thing, he knew where they were – for another, those sites had all been stripped of anything usable after they were abandoned in the mid 1960's. This place, on the other hand, while in overall better shape appeared to have never been fully operational at all.

"It was an experiment that never worked out, an upgraded launch site for the Titan.1's. When they decided to pull the plug on the program, they never finished the site." Hawke gestured toward piping brackets that did not look as if they had ever held pipe. "They closed up the main entrance, and somehow it got written off the maps. It appears the government forgot it even existed."

"Are you trying to tell me Airwolf is down here?" Caitlin asked, confused.

Hawke slowed as he approached a heavy blast door. He pushed it open – the door swinging easily, despite the rust.

Releasing Michael's hand, she stepped past Hawke. Her flashlight reflected off the helicopter's sleek hull. Caitlin raised the lamp, the beam of light shining up into the darkness as Michael followed her into the launch silo. She tipped her head back further, gasping with the apparent realization of just how far up that darkness went. Eyes wide, she turned and looked back at him. "Oh, crap."

-*-

Caitlin pressed her hand against the side of the helicopter, assuring herself that it was real, that Airwolf truly was down in the depths of this shaft. _Tight fit_, Hawke had said. That was the understatement of all understatements. She didn't turn, not quite willing to meet his eyes and let him see the fear in hers. "Just how much clearance is there?"

"Tip of the rotor blade to tip of the tail is fifty feet. The silo is sixty." His footsteps approached until he stood beside her. "It's a hundred and fifty-five feet to the surface."

Five feet, then, on either end. It made flying out of the lair look like child's play. She willed her pulse rate to slow. _I can do this._ I _have_ to do this.

Michael joined them, looking upwards. "Not to belabor the point, but I don't see any stars. We've got a roof over our heads."

"St. John and I brought in a generator."

Michael gave him an incredulous look. "A generator that will open those doors? As I recall, they weigh over a hundred ton apiece."

Hawke chuckled. "Told you this place was never anywhere near operational. They never installed the nuke-proof doors. Just hinged slabs of steel. Still pretty rugged, but given the way they're counterweighted, it's within the capacity of the generator."

"How did you two ever find this place?" There was admiration in the agent's voice.

"St. John and Jo stumbled across it. They were looking for something else at the time, but Airwolf's scanners picked up some odd readings, and nothing on the maps accounted for what Jo was seeing. My brother came out here a few days later and started poking around. He found the entrance. There were records and work orders left in the control room that explained some of the history of the place."

Michael looked down at the floor. "I'm surprised it's this dry. The Titan sites all flooded once they stopped pumping them out."

Hawke shrugged. "That was one of the design changes. Some high-tech drainage system. Silo diameter is bigger, too, guess they wanted more room to work on the missile."

Caitlin had been half-listening to the exchange. If the silo had been any smaller, St. John never would have gotten Airwolf into it. She rather wished that he hadn't.

"Cait, can you do it?" Michael's voice was quiet.

"Yeah." She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

"Are you sure? If not, we can find another way. Bring in a crane... something."

_Right._ Bring a crane onto Vandenberg Air Base and pluck Airwolf out of a missile silo the Air Force had forgotten they owned. That wasn't going to work, and they all knew it. "I'm sure," she lied. "How do we get the doors open?"

"The generator is in the power room. I can go fire it up and open the roof. Once you're out, I'll close it again and meet you topside." Hawke cast an appraising look at Michael. "If I send you up with Cait, can I trust you not to turn around and give Airwolf back to the Firm?"

Michael cocked a brow. "I gave you my word, Hawke. And in any case, I want Horn just as badly as you do."

The pilot stared at him for a moment. "Okay. You take the express elevator to the top."

"No." Caitlin bit her lip. She hated doing it to her husband, but she had to. "I'm sorry. I'm going to need you right here."

The glare Michael gave her would have frozen stone. She cringed inwardly. Caitlin knew what torture climbing out of this pit would be for him, but the alternative might be fatal. She wasn't that sure of her abilities, especially considering how long it had been since she had flown Airwolf. Besides, she did need their help. "I need both of you down here with radios. One on each side, to make sure I don't start drifting."

Michael eyed her, finally nodded his agreement. "All right. So, what do we do once we get Airwolf out of here?"

"Head back to the lake. Cait, there's room behind the cabin, you can land there. Can you get the camo net over her?" At her answering nod, Hawke continued. "We'll bring the Jeep back and meet you there. It will take us awhile. You can feed Tet for me."

Hawke had retrieved Michael's Jeep that morning, short-cutting the woods on a trail neither Caitlin nor the agent had known existed and picking them up at the cabin. At least Michael wouldn't end up slogging through the forest again.

Caitlin took a deep breath. "Let's do it." She wanted to get the helicopter in the air before she had too much time to think about it.

"Hawke, do you need help with the generator?" Michael asked.

"No, I've got it. You two can get the radios out. I'd just as soon not leave the silo uncovered any longer than we need to."

As the pilot left them, Caitlin yanked open Airwolf's door, the usual pop as the seal released sounding unusually loud in the still depths. She grabbed the radios out of the back, handed one to Michael. A quick test ensured they were working.

Michael pulled her to him. Arm around her, he tugged his particle mask down to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. "Are you sure about this?"

She reached up and put the mask back into place. "I don't want you breathing this stuff," she explained. God only knew what noxious chemicals and toxins were in the air. "And yeah, I'm sure."

There was a grinding sound, and far above them, the metal doors began to open. "I am sorry about making you climb out of here, but I do need you to spot for me."

His eyes smiled at her. "It's okay. I don't mind. I need the exercise."

"Liar."

"Yeah, and you're sure you can do this."

She hugged him, hard, and he returned embrace. They both looked up as they heard footsteps approach.

"So, we're ready?" ashed Hawke.

Moving away from Michael, Caitlin handed him the other radio. "Let's go."

-*-

The men backed away from the helicopter as the blades began to turn, going to opposite sides of the silo. The rotor wash kicked up a blast of grit, blowing around whatever debris was left inside the vertical concrete tunnel. From inside the cockpit, Caitlin gave them a thumbs-up, and switched on the landing lights.

She lifted off, hovering just feet above the floor. Getting a feel for the controls, Hawke knew. "Hold her right there, Cait. You're exact center," he said into the radio mic, shielding it with his hand.

Slowly, Airwolf crept upwards. Michael and Hawke both offered encouragement and minor corrections, but Caitlin kept the helicopter safely centered virtually on her own. It was impressive flying. Hawke remembered her first time in Airwolf, and fought back a grin. She had certainly come a long way since then.

"I'm clear!" Her voice came over the radio, a mixture of excitement and relief in her voice.

"Good work." he answered.

"Knew you could do it. Love you, Cait. Fly safe." Hawke heard Michael's words over the radio as he stripped off the headset.

With Airwolf gone, it was silent again, the darkness seeming even deeper after the harsh glare of the helicopter's lights. "You want to wait here while I close up and shut the generator down?" he asked Michael.

The agent eyed him suspiciously. "How many more flights of stairs?"

Hawke chuckled. "None. Actually, the power room is pretty much on our way out."

"Good enough. Let's go."

Once there, Hawke threw the switch that would close the overhead doors, and shut the generator down. They left the area as quickly as they could – although St. John had rigged a vent to the machine, it didn't work very well, and the air in that part of the complex was thick with the fumes.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Hawke sat down on one of the lower steps. "Let's take a break before we head up."

Michael glared at him. "I'm fine."

"Maybe you are. I'm not. Sit. My ankle is killing me." It wasn't too much of an exaggeration.

The agent gave him a dubious look, but sat down. "Injuries from the explosion?" he asked.

"Yeah. Shattered it." He looked down at Michael, seated on the step below him. "How bad is your arm?"

The agent looked up sharply. "What did Cait tell you?"

Hawke shook his head. "She never mentioned it."

"Oh." His tone said that he realized he'd just confirmed Hawke's suspicions. "I didn't know it was that obvious."

"It's not." The pilot paused. "But you didn't answer the question."

Michael shrugged. "Some weakness in my hand, and I can't raise my arm over my head. Nerve damage. It's not a problem."

"Is that what she meant about you being in the hospital?"

He nodded. "I was in pretty rough shape. She didn't leave my side for over a week."

Hawke knew that when she had first arrived at Santini Air, Caitlin had held something of a torch for him -- although much to Santini's chagrin he had never seen her as anything more than a little sister. He wondered what the old Italian would think of the relationship between her and the agent. Behind the mask, he grinned. "I never would have pictured you and Cait together."

"Neither would I," Michael admitted.

"She know about your first trip over there?" Hawke well remembered how he had met the agent, flying him into Cambodia for an assassination mission.

"She knows everything." Michael stretched his leg. "Cait saved my life. Hauled me out of that God- forsaken jungle after I'd been hit. Afterwards... we were both in a bad place. She found out about the accident at the hanger -- I learned the committee had eliminated my division, and--" He broke off, flexing his right hand. "_That_ took awhile. At one point, I didn't think I'd ever... I guess we leaned on each other."

"You know, I never thanked you," Hawke said quietly.

"For what?"

"For what you did, and what you tried to do." The agent had more than held up his end of their deal. He had risked his own life in an attempt to rescue St. John, and it had cost him dearly. It wasn't Michael's fault Bouchard had gotten there first.

"Don't thank me. It was worth it. We got seven men out of that camp, and in the process, I found the love of my life." Left hand on the railing, Michael pulled himself to his feet. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

-*-

Depending on one's perspective, it was either very late or very early by the time Hawke and Michael got back to the cabin. In the pre-dawn moonlight, they could just make out the bulk of Airwolf, netting covered, waiting behind the building.

They went in quietly, but Caitlin stirred, lifting her head sleepily from her mound of pillows and blankets. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep," Hawke told her quietly. Once she had laid back down, he gestured Michael off to the side. "I'm going to go up and catch a few hours, myself," he said, in a low voice. "Suggest you do the same."

Michael nodded. "I'll see you in the morning. Or should I say, later in the morning."

Hawke climbed the stairs to the loft. Some impulse made him stop and look back downstairs.

Michael kicked off his shoes, and eased himself down beside Caitlin. Mostly asleep, she sighed contentedly, relaxing against him as he pulled a blanket over both of them.

With something that wasn't quite a pang of jealousy, Hawke looked away and went in to bed.

-*-

Caitlin had a late breakfast started by the time the two men were awake. "What time did you guys get in?" She had a vague memory of Michael crawling into the nest of blankets with her, but no idea what time it had been.

"Around four." Hawke poured coffee as Michael followed him into the kitchen, sliding a cup across the counter to the agent.

"Thanks." He sipped at the coffee. "We've got Airwolf. Now what?"

"Two things. One is that I need to get back in the air. The other is to find Horn."

"There might be a way to combine the two," Caitlin said, pushing breakfast across the table as she sat down. "I was thinking about it on my way back here last night. Rather than finding Horn, how about we let him find us?"

"What do you mean?" Michael asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Horn doesn't know where Airwolf is, but he's got to figure that without a crew, she's grounded and no longer a threat . If Airwolf is seen flying around -- then she becomes a threat again, and he'll come looking."

"No." Michael put his fork down.

"Why not?"

"Horn knows you can fly Airwolf. He thinks String is dead. That puts you right in his cross hairs."

"Agreed," Hawke nodded. "If anything, I want Horn after me, not you."

"And you're going to get that how? Think about it. Once your brother hid Airwolf, as far as anyone knew, I became the best chance of finding it. Maybe the only chance. Heck, that's why Zeus sent Michael and I out here. That makes me a target, in and of itself. But we know something nobody else knows. String, you're our element of surprise." She needed to make them understand that it was the only way to get to Horn. "I need to be the bait."

"Even if I were to agree with you..." Michael held up his hand to stall her reply. "And I'm not saying I do. It brings us to another problem. Horn's not going to be the only one who''ll hear about it if Airwolf is seen publicly. The Firm will, as well."

"What if we deny that we've got her?" Caitlin asked.

"They'll assume that someone else has, and blow her out of the sky the first chance they get," Hawke stated, looking at Michael as if waiting for the agent to deny it.

Caitlin, too, looked at her husband. He had that look on his face, the one he got when he was thinking something through. "There might be a way to take the Firm out of the picture," Michael said, finally.

"Well?" Hawke demanded impatiently when the agent didn't continue.

"If the Firm believed they weren't actually seeing Airwolf."

The pilot sighed. "I don't suppose you'd like to elaborate?"

"Sorry, Still thinking this out." He glanced at Caitlin. "And I still don't like the idea of dangling you in front of Horn." Michael sipped at coffee that was undoubtedly starting to grow cold. "There's another Airwolf. At least there was, back when I was running the division."

"What do you mean, another Airwolf?" Hawke came half-way off his chair, whatever camaraderie he had found with Michael forgotten.

Michael waved him back to his seat. "Not a real Airwolf, so to speak. Let me start from the beginning. Remember, Airwolf was initially created as a prototype. The plan was to build copies for other government agencies and recoup our investment."

The pilot was growing impatient again. "We know all that. How does it explain a second Airwolf?"

"The second helicopter was essentially a mock-up. A visual representation to park on the showroom floor. It looked like Airwolf, but had none of the armor, weapons, turbos or other equipment that makes Airwolf special."

"So how does that help us?" Hawke wasn't following Michael's thinking.

"If we can get Zeus to give us the mock-up, we can claim that any reported sightings are simply that, and not the real Airwolf."

"Yeah, but if you ask for use of the fake, he'll know you're up to something."

Michael stroked his mustache, the corner of his mouth rising in a half-smile. "That's why I need to make him think it's his idea. Hawke, can I use your phone?"

The look on Hawke's face said that he still didn't have a clue what the agent was planning. "It's behind the bar."

Finishing the last of his coffee, Michael crossed the room and retrieved the phone. He dialed the number from memory. "Hello, Admiral?" Caitlin heard him say. "I need a favor."

-*-

Michael stalked through the corridors of Knightsbridge, past what was once his office. He glanced in as he passed, seeing the garish multi-colored carpet someone had installed. When and if he got his office back, that rug would be the first thing to go.

The handful of ibuprofen he'd taken had kicked in, easing the pain in his knee. It wouldn't do to hobble into the Director's office. Zeus had no idea that he'd spent the last two days slogging through the woods and scaling a missile silo, and Michael fully intended to keep it that way. He stopped outside the door to the Director's outer office and adjusted his tie, then opened the door and went in.

"Michael, it's so good to see you!" The older woman got to her feet, coming around her desk to sweep him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, too, Helen," he said with true affection. Zeus might be a blood-sucking bastard, but his long-time secretary was a peach. "I think your boss is expecting me."

"He is. He said to buzz you in as soon as you arrived." With some apparent reluctance she released him and keyed the intercom, speaking into her headset. "He's here, sir." She looked up, motioned toward the door. "Go on in."

Michael taped once and opened the door, not waiting for a response.

The Director remained seated behind his massive walnut desk, obviously remembering Michael's earlier rebuff. Michael dropped impudently into the chair before it, leaning back, posture relaxed.

"You wanted to see me?"

"What's the status of the search?"

"I can give you a list of places where Airwolf isn't. St. John Hawke had a lot of secrets, a lot of acquaintances. Some of them aren't so easy to track down." All of which was perfectly true, as far as it went.

Zeus scowed, leaning forward. "We have a situation."

Michael remained silent, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"Apparently, there is a rumor circulating at the DOD that we've lost the helicopter. Now the military is out looking for it."

_Gotcha_. He owed the Admiral a box of cigars. Cubans. "If we can't find it, it's unlikely that they will."

"You're forgetting that the military has virtually unlimited manpower. We do not. They have the capacity to turn over every rock in North America and look under it. Even a blind squirrel finds the occasional nut." Zeus templed his fingers. "We need to quash that rumor."

"You have something in mind?"

"We make it appear that we still have control of Airwolf. I'm going to have one of our pilots bring the old mock-up out and put in some flight time in it."

This was the tricky part. "You'll have your pilot coordinate with me? On the remote chance that it turns out someone else does have Airwolf, I'm going to need to know which sightings are real and which are not."

Zeus sat back, and Michael could see that he was considering his options. "Let's make this simple. Bring back the Long Ranger we loaned you, and take the mock-up instead."

_Like taking candy from a baby._ Zeus had never been particularly happy with the idea of Caitlin flying the Firm's helicopter. Offering him an attractive alternative nearly guaranteed that Zeus would do exactly what Michael wanted. However, it wouldn't do to seem too eager. "How long has that thing been sitting? Is it even airworthy?"

""I'll have it checked over and serviced. We'll make the swap in the morning."

-*-

Michael had stripped off his jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. As the only one who wasn't going to be doing any piloting in the coming hours, he had availed himself of a glass of Hawke's wine. The mock-up sat waiting on the dock, while the real Airwolf still lurked under cover behind the cabin. "We seem to have an extra helicopter. Any ideas on where we can stash it?"

Caitlin and Hawke were drinking soda. Hawke grinned. "Maybe Cait could put Junior," he cocked his thumb toward the dock, "Back down in the silo."

Michael assumed the pilot was joking, but he wasn't taking any chances. "Over my dead body."

His wife nodded her agreement. "One trip to that place was enough for anyone."

The agent raked his memory, searching for some place large enough, somewhere that no one would connect to Hawke or any other members of the Airwolf crew. He scowled, finally. "I do know a place. I don't like the idea, but it will work."

"Where?" It was Caitlin who asked the question.

"My father used to breed race horses. There's a huge barn on his property. It hasn't been used in years. If we slip 'Junior' in there in the middle of the night, he'll never even know it's there."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you had relatives."

"As far as I'm concerned, I don't," Michael answered, in a tone that made it clear he had no desire to discuss it further.

"Okay." The pilot apparently decided not to push it. "How far is this place, and how do you want to do it?"

Michael gave him a look. "You ready to knock that rust off?"

"Yeah."

The agent set his glass on the table. "Come on, Cait. Let's go see just how rusty he really is."

-*-

Michael slid behind the engineering console, tugging the helmet over his head. an unexpected wave of nostalgia washing over him. He had only flown with Hawke in Airwolf a handful of times, but he realized abruptly just how much he had missed it. Jason Locke had kept a much more "hands on" approach to the helicopter, and Michael suddenly wondered why he hadn't done the same. Hawke might well have allowed it – he had, after all, asked Michael to accompany him to Mexico when Santini was used as a hostage. That might have been an opening, an opportunity he never even considered following up on.

"You ready back there?" Hawke's voice came over the intercom link.

"Whenever you are."

"You remember how to run those scanners?" The question came with just the trace of a chuckle.

Michael returned the chuckle. "You remember how to fly this thing?" Hawke had successfully flown the mock-up for several hours that afternoon. Now it was time to try the real Airwolf.

In answer, the pilot reached over and hit the start buttons. Airwolf awoke, a creature unfurling it's wings, ready to stretch for the sky. Hawke keyed the radio. "Cait, you with us?"

"On your six," came the reply over the radio.

Flying at only the reduced speed the other helicopter was capable of, it took almost an hour's time to reach the virtually abandoned ranch. Airwolf swung overhead, searched with her sensors and declared the area clear of any signs of life. They landed the two helicopters outside the barn; the mock-up that Hawke had christened "Junior" closest to the heavy wooden door.

The door was secured by a dead-bolt lock, but Michael produced a skeleton key and made quick work of it. Inside the barn, they found little but cobwebs and rat droppings, the thick layer of dust evidence that the building hadn't been used in years.

Michael paused just inside the doorway, chewing his lip, staring up at the hayloft that ran along one side of the building. Caitlin quietly came up beside him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just never expected to come back here. " He indicated the loft with a tip of his head. "That's where my father caught up with me, the last time."

The agent's thoughts were interrupted by Hawke's call from outside. "Hey, a little help, you two?"

They went out, and found the pilot preparing to roll "Junior" into the barn. With the three of them pushing at the aircraft, it was relatively easy work. The mock-up weighed considerably less than its fully outfitted cousin.

When they took off again, Caitlin had joined them, filling the co-pilot's seat. "So, how do we get Horn's attention?" she asked, as they headed back toward the cabin.

Michael still didn't like the idea of using her as bait, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. Horn's automatic assumption would be that she was the one flying Airwolf. They would just have to be sure they protected her.

_So where did they start?_ "Hawke, my understanding is that there were some sort of prior problems that caused your brother to move Airwolf?" Attempts, the Admiral had said. He hadn't specified what sort of attempts.

"They tried to take her. Somehow they got in past the Lair's security system. Twice. Luckily, after the Firm found out where Airwolf was kept, St. John locked the ignition with a password. That was as far as Horn's people got."

"What evidence do you have it was Horn?" If someone tried to take Airwolf, it could have been anyone, including the Firm.

"The second time, St. John had set up cameras. According to Locke, the Company computers couldn't ID them, but I recognized a couple of the people."

The agent came back to something Hawke had said. "How did the Firm find the Lair?" Michael had found it by planting a carefully concealed homing device on one of the Santini Air jeeps.

"I don't know. Locke thought it might have been Pixie Dust."

Pixie Dust – slightly radioactive particles that could be sprinkled on a target, and then tracked using specialized equipment. It wasn't commonly used, but he wouldn't put it past someone at the Firm to try it.

"Besides your brother, who had the password?"

"Jo and I."

"Not Locke or Rivers?"

"Nope. They were Company," Hawke replied, using the term the Firm's newer employees preferred. "After the Firm learned the location of the Lair, St. John didn't entirely trust them."

Probably a good idea. A nagging thought occurred to Michael. "How did you find out the Firm knew where she was?" _He _had never let on that he knew where Airwolf was hidden. It had served his purposes to leave the helicopter right where she was, and leave Hawke in the dark about what he knew.

Hawke twisted, looking back over his shoulder at the agent. "Zeus flat out called my brother in and told him. Said that it benefited them all to keep things just as they were."

_That was interesting_. "I think I need to stop in at Knightsbridge tomorrow. See if I can get them to give me Locke's files. There might be something in there that suggests who Horn's connection was." Finding that connection might give them clues toward finding Horn.

-*-

Michael cocked his ear, listening. Airwolf, banking over the lake, coming in for a landing on the dock. He gathered up some of the papers he had spread across Hawke's coffee table, stacking them as the door opened behind him.

"...Yeah, rusty my foot," Caitlin was saying, laughing as she came in. "I should have made you fly out of that God-forsaken hole."

"Look at the bright side. If I'd flown, you would have had to climb back up the long way," Hawke bantered back. He came into the living room. "Find anything in those files, Michael?"

The agent was considerably more subdued. "I'm fairly certain I know who gave Horn the location of the Lair."

Hawke's eyes hardened. "Who? I'll kill the bastard myself."

"You're too late." Michael dropped the paper he was holding onto the table. "It was Jason Locke."

"Locke?" The pilot sat down abruptly, the breath gone out of him. "Why?" he asked, finally. "How?"

"Why would Locke deal with Horn? He already had Airwolf?" Caitlin rested her hand on Hawke's arm, a silent show of support.

Restless, Michael rose and paced across the room to lean against the fireplace mantle. "Locke never told me that you were alive because he feared that we might take Airwolf away from him. Controlling Airwolf gave him a certain amount of clout within the Firm. If the Firm learned where she was, he lost that clout."

"But, the Firm has known for the last two years." Confusion wrinkled Hawke's brow.

"There was no Pixie Dust. The Firm found out where Airwolf was because Locke told them."

"Why? Wouldn't that cost him what influence he had with the committee?" It was Caitlin's turn to be confused.

"He told them two years ago." Michael looked directly at his wife. "There was something specific he wanted. He thought that Airwolf's location would buy it for him."

She stared back at him, understanding slowly dawning in her eyes. "That assignment in Europe."

Michael saw that Hawke wasn't following them. "Two years ago, a plum position opened up in Europe. Half the Firm wanted it. Hell, I wanted it. Locke thought that offering up Airwolf on a silver platter would get him the job. He was wrong."

"The committee didn't want her back any more than you did." The pilot finally got it.

"Not really. They had to make it look good, and they wanted to know Airwolf's whereabouts, unofficially, at least. But as long as they could use the helicopter whenever they wanted, they had no reason to desire actual possession."

Caitlin scowled. "Locke couldn't have been happy when his plan backfired."

"He wasn't. He played his ace, and found out it was the wrong suit. With the Firm knowing Airwolf's location, he no longer had any influence at all with the Firm. I think that's why Zeus told your brother that he knew where Airwolf was. I'm sure Zeus would never admit it, but he knew Locke had tried to double cross St. John. I think it was meant as a warning."

Hawke shook his head. "More damned Firm politics."

"Unfortunately. And when Locke couldn't get what he wanted from the Firm, he tried to find another buyer."

"Horn."

"Horn," Michael agreed.

"I guess that explains why those guys who broke into the Lair weren't in the Firm's computers. He never ran the photos."

"There would be a record of it if he had. There isn't."

Hawke looked up sharply. "Locke was killed in the explosion. If he was working for Horn...?"

"He didn't have the password to access Airwolf. Locke was of no further use to Horn, and probably knew where to find him. He had become a liability."

The pilot shook his head. "Jackals."

"Jackals," Michael agreed.

-*-

"What do you think? One more pass?" Hawke looked back over his shoulder.

"Give it a couple. Make it look like a search pattern," Michael suggested. Horn was smart enough that the agent didn't really expect their quarry to leave any evidence that could be found from the air, but they might get lucky,

Michael had convinced Zeus to allow him access to all of Locke's records, under the guise that Locke might have helped St. John pick out Airwolf's new hiding place. Phone records, credit card statements, any other bits of information they could piece together regarding his movements over the preceding months. Those bits had triangulated to a mostly deserted mountainous area between Las Vegas and the Nellis Air Force bombing range.

"Are the cameras rolling?" Caitlin asked from the co-pilot's seat.

"Have been for the last hour." Michael had turned them on even before they reached the suspected area. Often the video would pick up some detail that might be missed flying over in real time.

"I'm going down on the deck," Hawke warned. "If we're going to beat the bushes, we might as well give them a good thrashing." With that, Airwolf dipped earthwards, skimming the ground barely a hundred feet above the broken terrain.

In the rear seat, the agent grimaced. There was something inexplicable about low level flight that always seemed to increase the apparent speed. It was different this time, though. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that it didn't bother him nearly as much as it had when he had flown with Hawke in the past. Depth perception was the difference, he realized. Covering his left eye had thrown his sense of balance totally out of whack. Now, with his stomach no longer protesting, he could appreciate the rush of adrenalin. He thought he might even come to enjoy it. Michael chuckled. "You know, Hawke, this is isn't so bad."

A roar of laughter came over the headset from both of the pilots. "I think we've corrupted him, String." Caitlin was still chuckling.

Hawke reached forward and flipped the switch for the cockpit intercom. He leaned toward Caitlin, saying something the agent couldn't catch before turning the intercom back on in time to hear her strangled answer. "String!"

She glared at the pilot, and from his position, Michael could just see the flush coloring her cheeks. "What did he say?" the agent asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"Um, he said Airwolf was an aphrodisiac."

_Sure he did._ "That doesn't quite sound like you, Hawke."

The pilot's laughter came through the radio. "I told her she was going to get laid tonight."

Michael felt the heat rise in his own face. "Not with that damned dog of yours poking his nose into things."

Hawke snorted. "Leave Tet out of it." He glanced across to Caitlin, "Wonder what he'd think if I dropped another fifty feet – and engaged the turbos?"

He wouldn't put it past Hawke to do just that. "Don't push your luck. If Horn is anywhere in the area, unless he's deaf and blind, he's gotten the message. That's what we set out to do."

"Are we headed back to the cabin?" Hawke asked. Somehow, without ever really talking about it, they had decided to stay at the lake until it was over, until Horn had been killed or captured. The cabin's isolation provided a certain security; anyone approaching would be easily spotted.

"Can we stop at the house? I'm running out of clothes," Caitlin complained.

"I don't see why not." Michael was running short on laundry himself, and there was plenty of room to land behind the house.. "We'll grab some clothes, then go look over this video." As he spoke, he reached over and switched off the cameras.

"Good enough, " Hawke answered, gaining attitude as he banked away toward Thousand Oaks.

-*-

Hawke sat sprawled on Michael's sofa while he waited for the others to collect the clothing they wanted to take back to the cabin. He grinned as he listened to the snippets of friendly bickering, Caitlin apparently disapproving of the amount of white the agent had packed when they had flown out from Washington.

He heard the distinctive chop of a helicopter's blades, still well in the distance. Curious, he rose and crossed to the glass doors that led out onto the deck, searching the sky for the source of the sound. His initial speculation that it might be one of the Firm's Long Rangers was soon disproven as the chopper came closer and the beat of the blades refined itself. He identified the sound. Hughes 500, probably local law enforcement. Hawke started to turn away, then saw the helicopter come into view.

Pure black, it carried guns mounted on both sides of the landing gear. The pilot swung the Hughes, pointing the nose almost directly toward the doors where he stood. "Shit!" Hawke shouted, diving for the floor just as the guns opened up, the glass shattering and raining down over him.

"Hawke?" Michael's voice, approaching from somewhere down the hallway.

"Get out! Get Cait into Airwolf!" Hawke yelled, hoping that it was possible. Airwolf was parked at the other end of the house, partly shielded from the back yard and the Hughes by a thick hedge. While he was pinned down by the shells that raked the house just above his head, with luck Michael and Caitlin might make it out.

Hawke reached for the automatic he had holstered when they went looking for Horn. It was unlikely he could do any real damage given the distance, but he might be able to distract the other pilot, at least momentarily. Still laying on his stomach, he aimed and fired, emptying the clip at the cockpit of the Hughes.

The only thing he succeeded in doing was attracting the attention and wrath of the pilot. The angle of he Hughes changed, and Hawke knew the rounds were about to be directed at him. He tried to scamper out of the way, and suddenly he registered the sharp pain in his leg. At the same time, he felt someone grab the back of his shirt, dragging him to the side. He started to raise his head to see who it was.

"Stay down, damnit!" Michael's voice, angry and out of breath as rounds from the Hughes shredded the carpet where they had just been moments earlier.

"Where's Cait?" Hawke demanded. Surely Michael wouldn't have left her?

Before the agent could respond, the answer became apparent. Airwolf blasted past, rocking the smaller helicopter. The Hughes pilot obviously decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and wheeled, taking off toward the ocean. Airwolf followed, chain guns blasting. The helicopters were out of sight when the chase came to it's inevitable conclusion, but the resulting explosion told both men that it was over.

Hawke let out a long sigh. "Thanks."

The agent waved off the gratitude. He pulled a jackknife from his pocket. "Let me see your leg." Michael cut away the fabric of the flight suit, exposing the wound.

A shard from the shattered glass door had left a long, jagged gash across Hawke's leg, just above the knee. It was bleeding freely, but it didn't appear that any veins or arteries were involved. Michael bound the cut with a piece of the flight suit. "That will slow the bleeding until we can do something better. There's a first aid kit in Airwolf. Should I get it, or can you walk?"

"Let's get the hell out of here before they send backup." Hawke let Michael help him to his feet. "Looks like Horn got our message."

"Loud and clear." It went without saying that Horn had responded with one of his own.

They made their way through the trashed remains of the house, out to where Caitlin waited in Airwolf, rotor blades turning. Hawke refused Michael's offer of assistance, instead climbing into the co-pilot's seat, re-wrapping the wound to his leg as Caitlin headed for the cabin.

"You're going to need stitches," Michael observed.

Hawke snorted. "Might be a little hard to arrange. I'm dead, remember? Most Doc's don't treat ghosts." There would be too much paperwork, too many explanations.

"I know one who does," the agent answered. "I'll have her meet us at the cabin."

-*-

Marella hadn't changed much. Her hair was a little shorter, and instead of white, she was wearing khakis and a thin sweater of the same color. There was just a hint of confusion on her face as Michael let her in, an expression that changed to one of surprise when she saw Hawke, his leg bandaged and propped on the coffee table.

"Hawke?"

"Good to see you, too, Marella," he grinned.

She shook her head. "Somebody has some explaining to do. Meanwhile, though... Michael said I had a patient. I take it that's you?"

Hawke shrugged. "He thinks I need stitches." The pilot knew Michael was right.

Marella set her medical bag down, noting Hawke's wrapped leg. "Let me get some towels."

"Right here." Caitlin came in from the kitchen, carrying several. "I've put a pot of water on to boil, if you need it."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "Cait, I'm not having a baby!"

Sitting down on the table beside him, Marella began unwrapping the wound. "What did you cut yourself on?"

"Glass," Michael answered before the pilot could. "What used to be the door going out onto my deck. One of Horn's minions just leveled the house."

She gave her former boss a look that clearly questioned just what he had gotten himself into. She turned her attention back to Hawke. The gash was bleeding again. She produced a hypodermic. "I'll numb this as much as I can, but it's still going to hurt. I need to be sure there's no glass left in it."

He nodded. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had an injury probed. Hawke looked up in time to see Caitlin abruptly dart out the door, her face pale. Michael had seen it too, and followed her. Hawke raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember Cait being that squeamish."

Marella glanced toward the door. Hawke's gaze followed hers. Michael and Caitlin were on the porch, his arms around her, holding her to him. "You know about what happened in Cambodia?" she asked quietly.

"Some of it."

"I was flying the Huey. I couldn't land to help her. He nearly bled to death."

No wonder Caitlin had freaked at the sight of blood. Hawke winced at Marella examined the wound, finally pronouncing it free of glass.

Michael and Caitlin returned as Marella finished taping the bandage. She reached into her bag, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. "Since you were such a brave boy...." Marella produced an orange lollipop, handing it to Hawke.

He laughed. "A lollipop?"

Michael grinned. "You're a little older than most of her patients."

Hawke looked back and forth between them. "Ah, no, don't tell me..." He had the feeling he knew what was coming.

"Yep, Pediatrics," Marella confirmed, repacking her bag.

-*-

"Come."

Michael heard the muffled call, and opened the door to the inner office. Helen had gone for the day; he was vaguely surprised that Zeus hadn't left as well.

Seeing him, Michael decided Zeus actually had left, but had since returned. The Director was dressed casually, wearing an unexpected polo shirt. Zeus gestured him toward a chair. "Are you and Caitlin all right?"

The question surprised the agent. "We're fine."

It was a long moment before the Director said anything else. "Is Cait somewhere safe?"

Michael nodded. "For the moment." Caitlin was in Airwolf with Hawke. If there was anywhere that was actually safe, that was probably it. Airwolf was loaded for bear, and was nearly the fastest thing in the sky.

"We traced the remains of the Hughes. It comes back registered to people connected with John Bradford Horn."

"I know."

The Director eyed him thoughtfully. "Horn was behind the blast at Santini Air?" It was as much a statement as a question.

"He was."

Zeus sighed deeply. "We have reason to believe that Horn has – had – an accomplice within the Firm."

"You're referring to Jason Locke."

"Locke," Zeus confirmed. "When we started checking, we found that his financial records show a number of unexplained deposits." The man leaned back in his chair, slowly exhaled. "Regarding another matter... Our people examined the remains of the Hughes. They said that it appeared to have been shot down." He met Michael's gaze. "In my opinion, pilot error seems more likely. I assume the damage must have been caused by on board ordnance that exploded on impact?"

"I would imagine so," Michael answered carefully, wondering what the other man was up to. Zeus knew as well as he did exactly what had happened to the Hughes.

The Director chewed his lip. "Do you have any leads on Horn?"

"I have a general area. Somewhere north of Vegas. I have film to examine that I hope might provide additional information."

"Horn turned one of the Firm's senior agents. That doesn't set well with me." Zeus leaned back. "You have my authority. Deal with Horn however you see fit. He's been a thorn in the Firm's side for too long. If there's equipment you need, take it."

"Thank you." Michael thought he was about to be dismissed, and slid forward, about to rise.

"Michael..." The Director was as pensive as Michael had ever seen him. "We don't always see eye to eye. For one thing, you play fast and loose with the rules. I don't agree with some of your methods, and to be honest, I don't particularly like you. Nevertheless... there is no questioning your loyalty to either the Firm or your country. Perhaps if we had left you in charge of the Airwolf project, we wouldn't be in this situation."

The agent was glad that he was still seated. Had he been standing, he might have toppled over. The last thing he had expected upon being summoned to the Director's office was an apology – or second thoughts regarding his transfer. This wasn't quite either, but was far closer to both than he had ever expected. Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded.

"Let's not concern ourselves with Airwolf right now. Consider the search on hold until Horn is dealt with." To his credit, Zeus said the words with a perfectly straight face.

Michael rose. He couldn't resist asking the question. "And after that?"

Zeus eyed him. "As I said before, you find Airwolf, and she's yours."

-*-

Hawke sat back, leg propped up in front of him, watching the monitor Michael had borrowed from the Firm. The screen went black as the tape came to an end.

"Run it again, Cait."

She hit the rewind button on the remote. "I don't know, String. I don't see anything."

"It's there, I know it is." Hawke scowled, leafing through a handful of satellite photos while the machine rewound. "I just don't know what I'm looking for."

Michael had given up after the first half-dozen viewings, knowing that if there was anything in the video, the pilot would find it. Instead, he was seated at the bar, going over the files that had been puled from Locke's computer, hoping that there was some clue there that they had missed. His brow furrowed as he noticed something that seemed unusual. "Did Locke strike you as having a shoe fetish?"

That brought a raised eyebrow from Hawke. "Huh?"

"There were times when he was having his shoes shined on a daily basis."

Hawke sat up straight. "What do you mean, times?"

"He'd have them done daily for a week or two, then not for a month – then daily again." The agent looked up from the records. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Somewhere dirty. Muddy, maybe. Could be Horn's compound."

The video had finished rewinding. "You ready to run this again?" Caitlin asked, her finger on the start button.

"Go ahead."

Hawke leaned forward, watching intently. Michael rose from the bar, joining Caitlin on the sofa. He watched with the others. The landscape was desolate, mostly deserted. Scrub, mountains, more scrub. The occasional old, dilapidated building. The remains of an old mine. More decaying buildings, ruins of... _Shit. _ "Cait, pause the tape."

She did as he asked, eyes turning to question him. "Michael?"

"Hell, I'd forgotten all about..." He spoke mostly to himself, staring at the screen. "Horn wouldn't have the audacity, would he?"

Hawke studied the image. "Is that where...?"

"Where the Firm built and tested Redwolf," Michael confirmed. "I think they abandoned the place after Jenkins shot it up and blew the fuel tanks."

The pilot raised an eyebrow. "Horn would take a certain satisfaction in using the Firm's own facility against them."

"And Locke would be familiar with the place. Might even have told Horn about it."

Hawke reached over and took the remote from Caitlin. He ran the tape backwards and forwards, examining the short clip where the buildings were in view. "Those could be tire tracks. And there's not much grass around."

Instead there was loose dirt, the kind that would soil someone's shoes. "What do you think? Do we need to take a closer look?"

The pilot got up from the chair, favoring his injured leg. "Yeah. Let's do some flying."

-*-

They were playing it cool. Extending their apparent search pattern, trying to make it appear that they hadn't found what they were looking for the first time. The Redwolf test site was just on the edge of the pattern, seemingly not their main target. As they finally came up on it, Hawke turned to look over his shoulder. "Got the cameras and scanners running?"

"Infrared, trace elements, cameras on high res." Michael brought the systems to life. "Anything I'm forgetting?"

"Think you've got it. Heads up, everybody, we only get one pass." Hopefully that one pass wouldn't be enough to alert Horn that they had found his hideout.

As they flew almost directly over the compound, Hawke peered through the windscreen, trying to take in the details. Several long buildings that might have been army barracks, a rusting hanger that had once held Redwolf and could easily accommodate several helicopters. The fueling rig appeared to be in rough shape, but then, so did his dock. Appearances could be deceiving.

In an instant, they were past the site, continuing their mock search pattern. "Get anything?" Hawke asked.

"According to the thermal scan, the long building on the left is full of heat sources. I'd say at least twenty or twenty-five people. Less in it's twin, maybe a half dozen. Looks like only one helicopter in the hanger."

"I'd expect more from Horn. Even with the Hughes I took down..." Caitlin broke off, seeming uncomfortable talking about the aircraft she'd shot from the sky.

"There's more. I'd bet on it," Hawke said grimly. "They're out on the prowl. Michael, keep an eye on that.--"

"We've got company!" Michael cut him off. "Hughes 500. Two of them, and they're not the highway patrol."

"Armament?"

"Guns and heat seekers. Closing on your six," the agent warned.

"Roger that." He wanted them closer, close enough that they wouldn't get away when they turned tail and ran.

"They've fired missiles, Hawke. I'm dropping Sunbursts." One of the missiles bit, following the magnesium flare. The second ignored the bait, following them instead. "Still got one on us."

Hawke found Michael's voice remarkably calm, given that the man wasn't accustomed to flying into combat. The pilot pulled Airwolf into a Chandelle, climbing sharply. The missile raced past them, slamming into the hillside. At the top of the climb, he kicked her over, descending as sharply as he had ascended. He found the first of the Hughes in his sights. "Give me a Sidewinder."

"You've got it."

The pilot thumbed the firing button, sending the missile streaking towards Horn's helicopter. He didn't wait to see the explosion, instead turning Airwolf towards it's other enemy. The Hughes tried to get away, but Hawke was in no mood to allow it. He raked the fuselage, shells chewing into the other ship. It went up in a ball of fire.

"Scope's clear," Michael announced, breathing what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Now what?"

"We finish our search." Hawke returned to their pre-determined grid.

"Isn't this a little redundant? We know where Horn is?" the agent asked.

"Yeah, but he doesn't know we know, and I want to keep it that way."

-*-

"You can't do this alone -- we can't do this alone," Michael corrected. "The bastard's got too many people, and at least one more helicopter."

"So what are you proposing?" Hawke eyed him warily.

"Zebra Squad. Let them deal with Horn's militia on the ground."

"I don't like it." He glanced up, looking to be sure that Caitlin was still outside walking Tet. "I want Horn. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes pop out of his head."

If asked, Hawke would have had a hard time explaining the rage he felt for Horn. St. John's return had, in some respects, been something of a letdown. After so many years of searching, Hawke had been reunited with a brother who had, ultimately, moved on without him. St, John had worked for one of the Firm's sub-agencies for years, without ever contacting him, not even to simply say that he was alive. He had made friends with Locke, who had been playing his own games, games in which Hawke himself was little more than a pawn. The brothers had grown apart, a distance that only widened as the years passed.

Had St. John died on a mission, it would have brought sorrow, but not the burning need for retribution. This was different. Horn had intentionally set up not only St. John but Jo and their Air Force pilot friend as well. He had used someone they trusted against them. That betrayal needed to be avenged, regardless of Hawke's relationship or lack thereof with St. John.

Michael nodded in understanding. "You think I didn't feel that way about Moffet? He slaughtered my people. The technicians at Red Star, Angela... Gabrielle. I wanted the man dead at my hands, every bit as much as you want Horn."

Hawke remembered the morning Michael had shown up at the cabin, barely able to walk. He winced as he remembered Gabrielle changing the dressings on the agent's back. "You weren't up to it."

"I wasn't," Michael admitted. "As much as I wanted to kill him myself, it wasn't possible. I settled. Maybe you need to."

The pilot let out a long sigh. Maybe Michael was right. He gestured toward the phone. "All right. Call them. We'll do it your way."

-*-

The Zebra Squad was sending four armed Hueys full of men. Michael hoped it would be enough. Airwolf would lurk at a distance, making sure no one escaped, especially Horn. As far as anyone knew, Airwolf was only the unarmed mock-up, with Caitlin piloting. They would maintain that ruse, if they could.

Hawke followed the Hueys in, staying above and behind them, well out of the line of fire. They monitored the radio traffic on the Firm's private frequency. As they came over the compound, commandos started descending from the helicopters on ropes, rushing the barracks-style buildings.

On the ground, the Firm's people were meeting heavy resistance. Horn's troops were well armed, firing from concealed machine guns. The Hueys joined the fray, raking the gunner's nests with their own fire.

"Company," Michael announced from the rear seat, as the scanner worked to identify the incoming aircraft. "Two more Hughes 500s." The agent knew Hawke was itching to join the battle. "The Hueys should be able to handle them."

The pilot made a low sound that was almost a growl, and his fingers twitched on the stick, but he held his position. They all watched as two of the Firm's helicopters turned to meet the threat. One Hughes went down quickly, spiraling out of control after its tail rotor was destroyed. The second got off a lucky shot, it's missile connecting with the Huey's cockpit. The helicopter exploded, flaming pieces raining to the ground.

Caitlin let out a gasp. "Hawke!" Michael warned, "Let them handle it."

With a visible effort, the pilot nodded. Another of the Hueys pulled away from the continuing ground battle, and made short work of the remaining Hughes. Hawke sighed with relief.

Between quick glances at the action on the ground, Michael watched the scanner. His vigilance was soon rewarded. "Hawke! Incoming. Behind us."

"What is is?" Hawke spun Airwolf on her axis, searching the sky.

"Helicopter. Big and fast. Scanner's not recognizing it." Michael read the words on the monitor. "Not on file." He looked up just in time to unconsciously duck as the dark shadow blasted past above them.

By the time Hawke could turn Airwolf back, another of the Hueys was already in flames. The newcomer lined up with the third, even as shells from the fourth bounced ineffectively off it's hull. "She's armored, whatever she is," Hawke announced, turning Airwolf to join the fight.

Michael didn't object. The Firm's helicopters were clearly out gunned, as was evidenced when the third Huey was hit. The last tried to evade, only to be hit by a missile from Horn's ship, which then dipped down to help his people in the ground battle.

"Hawke!" Caitlin had been watching the action on the ground, and pointed. "The Jeep!"

A dark colored Jeep raced away, occupant bouncing as the vehicle sped across the broken terrain. It was too far away for Michael to identify the driver, but he had no doubt who it was. "Horn."

For a moment, Michael thought that Hawke would turn Airwolf to pursue Horn, but the rogue helicopter was inflicting heavy casualties on the ground. "Michael. give me a Sidewinder."

"Got it."

Hawke targeted the helicopter before him, but as the heat seeker neared it, it dropped sunbursts, luring the missile away from it's target. "Damn it!" the pilot bellowed. "Sparrow. Now!"

Michael thumbed the button for the radar guided projectile. Hawke locked onto the target, and for a moment, the shot seemed it might be successful. Suddenly, the missile veered off-course. "Radar jamming," the agent announced, seeing he information come up on the screen before him.

"Shit!" Hawke swung Airwolf beneath the interloper, drawing the helicopter away from the Firm's ground troops. It gave chase, following them as they streaked upwards toward open sky.

Missiles fired toward them. "Heat seekers. Dropping sunbursts." Michael pushed the buttons, and was relieved when the flares pulled the missiles away from them.

Airwolf turned more sharply than the larger helicopter could, facing back toward it. Hawke fired cannons, but the shells were unable to penetrate the ship's armor. He climbed again, trying to find safety in outmaneuvering the other helicopter before it could turn on them.

As they slipped past it, Michael studied the other aircraft. The agent had a degree in Aeronautical Engineering, and he put that background to work, trying to spot a weak point in the helicopter's design. He thought he might have found one. "Hawke, the base of the main rotor!"

The pilot didn't question him, instead turning tightly and making another run at the other chopper. He aimed the cannons at the place Michael had suggested, and was rewarded as one of the shells hit home. The helicopter began to belch smoke, wavering in the air, barely under control as the pilot tried to set it down.

Seeing that it was effectively disabled, Hawke ignored it, turning in the direction the Jeep had taken. "Where the hell is he?"

With nothing on his screens, Michael joined the others in looking ahead, searching the ground before them. "There!" Caitlin pointed toward a barely visible puff of dust rising in the distance. "That's got to be him!"

They raced toward the departing cloud of dirt, soon catching up with the Jeep. Hawke circled, dropping to almost ground level, blocking the path of the fleeing vehicle. It skidded to a stop, and they could see that it was Horn. He reached down for something that extended from the floor beside him, pulling up a long tube that he lifted over his shoulder, pointing it toward Airwolf.

"That's a Stinger," Michael warned, identifying the shoulder-fired missile launcher.

Before Horn could bring the weapon fully to firing position, Hawke pulled the trigger on the chain guns. Shells tore into the Jeep, finding the gas tank. The Jeep exploded, fire and flames engulfing it. Hawke kept firing, making swiss cheese of the burning remains, chewing up the dirt.

Caitlin looked away. "Hawke." Michael's voice was quiet over the intercom. "It's over."

Taking a long breath, Hawke released the trigger. He nodded. "Yeah. It's over." He turned, and flew back past the compound, where it appeared that the Zebra Squad had gained control, the few survivors among Horn's people bound and tied, laying on the dirt between the buildings. Hawke looked back toward Michael. "Get on the radio. See if they need our help."

Michael changed the transmit frequency and contacted the leader of the squad. "They're all set. They've got backup coming," the agent confirmed.

"Good." Hawke looked over at Caitlin, who reached across to give his arm a supportive squeeze, then back at Michael. "Let's get the hell out of here."

-*-

Hawke had been unusually quiet on the flight back from Nevada, conversation limited to a few requests for information from Michael and the engineering console. They made good time, but the sun was dropping low as Airwolf banked over the lake, water reflecting the golden sky.

While Hawke shut down the helicopter, Caitlin hopped out, announcing that she would get dinner started and heading toward the house. Michael lingered, sensing that the pilot had something on his mind.

Hawke took his time, seemingly in no hurry. Finally, he swung from the cockpit, closing the door behind him. He stood, his hand still resting on the helicopter, his back toward Michael. "Offensive," he said, voice quiet.

The agent gave him a look. "What?"

"Offensive. As in the Tet Offensive."

_That certainly cleared things up._ "Offensive?"

The pilot turned "You held up your end of the bargain, I'm holding up mine. Offensive. That's the password that will let you into Airwolf's systems. Caitlin already has it, so I'm sure you could get it from her anyhow, but..."

Michael snorted. "Unless something happened to you, Cait wouldn't give it to me, nor would I ask her for it." Their relationship was built on mutual respect. He wasn't about to damage that.

Hawke shrugged. Whether that was a sign that he didn't believe it, or that it didn't matter, Michael wasn't entirely certain. Hawke quirked an eyebrow. "So, Mr. Deputy Director, are you going to keep the Airwolf program based out of Knightsbridge?"

"I'm not taking the job." He hadn't quite decided until now, but as he said it, he was certain.

That caught the pilot's attention. "Oh?"

"I've had enough of the politics, the infighting. Dealing with bureaucrats and the damned committee. I want the Airwolf program back. The rest... I don't need the headaches." Michael shook his head. "To answer your question, Airwolf stays here on the west coast."

"You're going to need a place to live." Hawke fought a grin. "Yours isn't looking too good at the moment."

The agent scowled. "I've already made a few calls. Contractors will be on the job tomorrow. They're going to rebuild the house."

There was the hint of a smile from Hawke. "That's going to take awhile. If you two would like to stay here until it's ready, you're welcome to."

Michael nodded his appreciation. "I'll have to ask Cait, but we might just take you up on that." He turned serious. "What about you?"

Hawke turned away from Airwolf and started slowly up the path, as the agent fell into step with him. "What about me?"

"How would you feel about rejoining the land of the living?"

The pilot looked over at Michael. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Maybe you should." The agent cocked his thumb toward Airwolf. "I need a pilot. Are you interested in the job?"

Hawke inclined his head toward the house. "Are you sure you don't already have one?"

"Caitlin's good, but she doesn't have the combat experience you have. She'd be the first to admit that. Airwolf goes up against something like Loki or the Fortune Teller, I want you in that seat."

"The committee would never buy it."

They had reached the porch, and Michael stopped, turning to lean against the railing. "Zeus has promised me free rein. I intend to take full advantage of it."

Hawke folded his arms. "Well, if I were to take the job... I'd need a co-pilot. Do you know where I could find an experienced one?"

Michael looked in the window to where Caitlin was working at the stove. "I might."

"Are you okay with that?"

He meant Caitlin flying into danger. "Not really. But I have to be. When Zeus told me I was being transfered to DC, before I accepted, I asked Cait if she wanted to go back to flying Airwolf. I told her Locke would undoubtedly be happy to have her as a part of his team. She said she couldn't. That it wasn't about the helicopter, it was about the people. You, Dominic." Michael sighed. "All that has changed now. No matter how I feel about it, to be fair to her, it has to be her decision." He shrugged. "I know what she wants."

Hawke nodded. "I guess I've got my co-pilot."

The agent looked up. "There's only one thing."

"What's that?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "She comes with an engineer. It's a package deal. Think you can live with that?"

Hawke grinned, as he reached for the door. "Yeah, I suppose I could live with that. Come on, I'm starving. Let's go find something to eat."

END


End file.
